


Mercurial

by yoshi09



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Bash x Mary, F/M, Mabastian, Mary x Bash, mash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshi09/pseuds/yoshi09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have feelings for me.” It was a question, delivered as a statement. There might have been surprise in his tone, had he not been so wary with Francis' departure— from the events that took place the night before. The cost of two lives, for the price of one. Bash wasn't sure what this meant, if the indifference he felt now was a reflection of the “bloodlust” the pagan in the woods cursed him with in his last breath, or if it was shock from the ease in which he shoved the man from his horse, a man which he had got to know for a night. He had children, a family, he had misguided morals with right intentions. “It is done.” he had said— would that be the eulogy that buries both? Bash felt dark. What to do when you fight the monsters, only to realize you are one yourself? The cost of two lives. For the price of one. It was a philosophy to contend with another time, for now, there was just Mary.<br/>***</p><p>Gapfiller for what happens at the end of s1e6-- after Francis told Mary, right in front of Bash, that she “can spend time with others” as long as it wasn't Bash and then Francis leaves. Takes place while Francis was getting comfort from Olivia, leaving Bash and Mary alone to do whatever they want for the rest of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercurial

Chapter 1: Apollo

“You have feelings for me.” It was a question, delivered as a statement. There might have been surprise in his tone, had he not been so wary with Francis' departure— from the events that took place the night before. The cost of two lives, for the price of one. Bash wasn't sure what this meant, if the indifference he felt now was a reflection of the “bloodlust” the pagan in the woods cursed him with in his last breath, or if it was shock from the ease in which he shoved the man from his horse, a man which he had got to know for a night. He had children, a family, he had misguided morals with right intentions. “It is done.” he had said— would that be the eulogy that buries both? Bash felt dark. What to do when you fight the monsters, only to realize you are one yourself? The cost of two lives. For the price of one. It was a philosophy to contend with another time, for now, there was just Mary.

Mary's reply was slow, but not with hesitation. “I— enjoy your company.” Fitting words from a monarch well versed in navigating the treacherous path of politics.

Bash didn't smile. He simply nodded, as if the news wasn't new to either of them. The silence thickened, grew stagnant, staled. Bash itched to ride. Perhaps it wouldn't be too late to find the man at the bottom of the cliff. He died for telling the truth— a cheat dies an honest man. Too many ironies today. A burial would serve better justice. But his feet would not move, Mary's gaze held him there, filled with questions she didn't want to ask, to which Bash had no desire to answer. She looked worried.

“Are you alright?” Bash asked.

As if the question reminded her of her ability to speak she spoke all at once. “Bash, are you alright? What happened in the woods? You were gone for nearly half of yesterday and return this morning. Francis spoke so ominously and I've never seen him so bitter—”

“—Francis will be fine.” Bash cut in. His words were subdued but one would think Bash shouted with how quickly Mary held her tongue. Bash looked apologetic. “What I meant was, he just needs to be away from... us, for awhile. To clear his thoughts.”

“And you?” Mary asked after some time, her eyes searching his face openly. “Do you need to be alone?”

“I don't know.” Anger, Bash realized suddenly, grounded him. With Mary trying so hard to understand him, to soothe him, was jarring and made it difficult to gather his thoughts. Maybe he needed to find Francis to argue with some more—

“Where are you going?”

Mary's words halted him. He hadn't even realized he started walking away, his feet already making decisions where his mind could not. He said the first thing he could think of, “Riding.”

Bash continued walking— in the opposite direction Francis went— now that his feet had instructions, he seemed more firm in his countenance, more determined. Ride. To where? To the man who deserved a burial. Would anyone think it strange if they saw him? Burying some random stranger, some prisoner, with no one else for miles around? He pushed the man in a ravine didn't he? No one would be looking there— no one but his own demons. Bash shook his head, these thoughts won't help the situation. How long until sundown? Perhaps several hours. Enough time to give the man a proper farewell, find out he has a family with some well placed bribes, send some funds to ensure his wife and children are well fed— Funds. Bribes. Now he's thinking like his mother. There was no problem big enough that couldn't be solved with money. A true de Poitier. Would she be proud of him to see that his “bleeding for a woman he can never have” was figurative when all the blood spilled was of others? Should she even know? He couldn't even remember the man's name. Montague? Montaigu? Montaine? Bash shook his head. Something with an M. Marquis. Yes, Marquis was his name.

Bash shoved open the stable door with less rapport than usual, startling his horse, and all others within the stable. Bash went to his automatically, a gloved hand placed gently upon his muzzle, and the white stallion neighed gently, sensing his unease. The horse leaned down and Bash sighed, closing his eyes as he leaned his forehead against the length of it's nose.

But what is a name, an alibi, money compared to the loss of a life? Nothing. Had it been him in the woods who would grieve him? Bash had no wife, no children. His mother certainly, his father— Stop. It wasn't Bash who died in the woods, it was his hand that did the deed for two others. Prices. Prices to pay—

“Bash.” Mary's voice.

Two lives. For the cost of one.

He opened his eyes again, feeling tired, so much more tired, as if his thoughts had exhausted him physically.

“Mary,” he said, his voice rough and dry with some emotion he couldn't quite put a name to. He didn't look at her, but knew she was standing scarcely two meters from him, keeping her distance, as she was wont to do sometimes when she was unsure of herself. Her hands were clasped before her in that mild, neutral manner that all women of noble birth seemed to excel at. Composure.

“Bash, you are unwell.” Mary said, her voice edged with uncertainty despite the finality she delivered her words with.

She shouldn't see him like this. She shouldn't be here. Why was she here?

“When did you come in?” Bash was a hunter, he was aware of his surroundings innately. Mary sneaking up on him was... unsettling.

“Not a minute after you entered. I followed you the entire time, did you not notice? I thought you slowed your stride so I could keep up?” She took a step closer. And another.

Bash didn't answer. When Mary was involved it was so much harder to think clearly. All other thoughts plaguing him stilled, as if every fiber of his being was attuned to her small, steady footsteps, amazingly quiet and graceful— Bash wondered briefly what it would be like to take her out hunting— and then his thoughts took a standstill as she stopped as close as she could beside him without making his horse uncomfortable as she was still a stranger to his steed. What an insignificant thing to notice, Bash thought, but how that spoke wonders for her character, for her thoughtfulness. She was much too good, she had a heart that was too warm in a prison of a much colder court.

What did it say about her though, that she chose to follow him and not Francis?

“Why follow me?” he asked, still unwilling to meet her questioning gaze. His words were careful, but the meaning behind them anything but, “why did you not go to Francis?”

She hesitated, as if she hadn't thought about this before, nor the implication behind them. But it was a short pause and had he not been raised alongside those who thrived in the dalliances of court he might not have noticed. “You told me yourself that Francis needs to be away from us for awhile, to clear his thoughts.” her recovery was seamless, the words he said echoed back to him flawlessly. Oh the game they both played. His eyes flicked to hers momentarily, and she met his levelly before glancing away. Her short gaze read like an open book: deep concern so heady he felt himself unconsciously lean just a breath closer to her, he wanted to reach out, pull back the loose hairs that swept over her cheek, reassure her, soothe her— would she pull away from his touch like their first kiss?—

These were dangerous thoughts.

Mary continued on, as if she too was suddenly realizing she might've been better off not following at all. Yet, she stayed. She tried to lead the conversation into safer waters. “Your horse. Does he have a name?”

Bash was not in the mood for light chatter but he welcomed the opportunity to change topics. “Apollo.”

“Apollo? As in the god of art, music, poetry and archery?” She smiled a little, eyes on his horse, “You might as well have named him Bash.”

“Ah, but Mary, that would require talent with instruments.” he quipped dryly.

“You play people well enough,” she took a step closer to his horse and by doing so made her a step closer to Bash, cutting off any response Bash might have come up with. “Hello, Apollo.” She moved her hand steadily from her side, keeping it within the horse's line of vision, and moved it gently toward Apollo's muzzle, making her intention clear to the horse and giving him every opportunity to shy away. When the horse didn't, Bash saw more then heard her mouth the words, “This is good?” to the horse before her fingertips gently swept the hairs on Apollo's snout, and when the horse gave no sign of discomfort, she pushed the rest of her hand and palm along his muzzle, smiling gently. The horse neighed softly, as if encouraging her to not be afraid.

“You are gentle. Like your rider?” she said pleasantly, her voice so low it was near whisper. Her hand was making a caressing motion up and down the long snout and Apollo's large eyes blinked in response. “My name is Mary.” she replied.

“Would you like to go riding with me?” Bash asked suddenly. She looked up at Bash.

“I'm afraid my mare is out of the stables right now.” She was gently petting his horse, absentmindedly. Her countenance more relaxed now than Bash had seen in a long time.

“I did not mean with your mare... I meant, with me. With Apollo.”

And suddenly she was tense again. Her eyes held his for a second, two, and Bash could see her swallow, whether to clear her throat or because she was weighing her options quickly, as quickly as she could before the amount of time passed polite— and abruptly she stepped away from him, as if just realizing how close they were, succeeding to loudly, and quite possibly painfully, bump into the slightly ajar stable door behind her. His horse was charmed, Bash however, was not.

He closed their distance once more, kneeling to check her ankle before Mary quickly assured him that she was fine, just fine, please get up. Which of course, by doing so, only succeeded in placing their faces once more a hairsbreadth apart.

Bash stepped back at once, a wry smile pulling the corner of his mouth. “With such a ghastly reaction you'd think I proposed marriage.”

Mary laughed uneasily. “I didn't mean to— what I meant was—”

It still was a new and altogether ridiculous experience to Bash that Mary, Queen of Scotland, could get flustered around him. He opened his mouth to say something to help calm her, but she was still speaking:

“I just met your horse and would Apollo be comfortable with a new rider, well two riders, on him? Just, of course you would know your horse better than I and I can't make any judgment based on my experience with past horses— in Scotland, in the convent, all of our horses are rotated so as not to get comfortable with any one rider, but rather all and— Bash?”

All her words paused upon his name as his right middle and forefinger pressed lightly along her left wrist. The barest of touches and yet it was so pleasant he found himself stilling with her lest she pull away.

“Apollo will be fine. Are you fine?” His eyes searched hers thoroughly.

“Yes.”

“Come with me?”

Mary hesitated. Then— “Yes.”

Bash's face brightened and he saw Mary flush at his lack of discretion. “Yes?” he repeated.

“Yes.” she confirmed.

He outright grinned. “Now I do wish I proposed marriage.”

Mary glowed with embarrassment. “Bash you are mad.”

“Yes.” he mocked, lightly. His fingers dropped from her wrist and he felt something tug at his heart at the loss. He opened the stable door.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I'd be posting this so soon, but I'm sick and I usually have nothing better to do than write. I imagine this'll be about three to four chapters long, with what my outline looks like right now. Comments and kudos are the only way we get paid!


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